Learning to Fight
by Brii Taylor
Summary: After Stella gets assaulted, she turns to Mac to help teach her how to defend herself. SMacked one shot, almost extremely fluffy but not quite


She looked up at him with innocent eyes, her heart pounding, though whether that was the result of their recent physical activity or something else, she couldn't quite tell.

"Come again?" she asked. She was well aware of the way they were pressed together and all too aware of his closeness. She closed her eyes as she felt his breath tickle her neck, trying to ignore the shivers of awareness that were making their way up her spine. His only audible response was a grunt as he carefully lifted himself off of her.

"I said, 'Good job. Want to go again?" Mac repeated, grinning as he got to his feet. He offered his hand to her, and after a second's hesitation, she took it and allowed herself to be helped upright. She regarded him, clad in a pair of sweatpants and a well-fitting black t-shirt, and smiled.

"Oh, I think I have it in me for one more round," she said playfully, stepping lightly forward and taking one of his hands. She slipped it around her own waist, sighing inwardly when his fingers brushed her waist, exposed by the sports bra she wore. His breath quickened. She smiled mischievously, taking another step forward so that they were touching and smiling when his arm automatically slid around to the small of her back before he involuntarily took a step back and looked down.

"Stella, did you want to learn how to fight or not?" he asked, still not meeting her gaze. She nodded, sobering up when she remembered the real reason they were here. A shiver ran through her body as she thought back to the events of the past few days…

She had been walking home when she first felt the sensation of someone watching her. She had felt some eyes on the subway, but had shaken it off. She wrapped her coat more tightly around her waist and quickened her step. She had almost reached the corner when someone grabbed her from behind, covering her mouth with a beefy hand. She'd reacted automatically, kicking out behind her and reaching for her bag, where her gun usually resided when she was off-duty, but the man, moving swiftly, had ripped it off her arm and threw it to the ground, leaving her defenseless. She kicked harder, panic taking over. She remembered making contact at least once, much to her attacker's apparent displeasure. The man had cursed and put her in a headlock. She'd struggled, aiming kicks and punches wherever she could reach, but it had done no good.

The man pushed her down, punching her and grabbing her arms. He pinned her down and tore at her pants, punching her again when she didn't comply. She struggled violently, even after he'd punched her across the mouth and she'd tasted and felt the blood begin to flow. In a final act of desperation, she'd kicked up, miraculously managing to knee the man in the groin. He'd roared in pain and punched her again, this time hitting her nose, but had rolled off of her. She'd turned slightly, kicking him again, this time in the face, and spotted her purse a few feet away. She grabbed it automatically and scrambled to her feet, running out of the alley and onto the sidewalk on instinct, looking around wildly and breathing hard. She'd spotted a bodega across the street and ran into it. Wide-eyed and bleeding, she'd identified herself as a cop, told the owner to call 911 and report an assault and then dropped to the floor, curling into a ball and clutching her purse like some sort of crazed shopper.

The next thing she'd remembered was seeing Flack's face, alive with fury.

"Stella? What happened? Oh, my God," he said, his voice trembling with rage. "Who did this to you?"

She'd shook her head, looking away, adrenaline, as well as the beginnings of shame, coursing through her veins. She hadn't managed to get a look at his face. She couldn't identify him if she wanted to.

"We'll find them," Flack vowed. He put a hand on her shoulder to comfort her, and she'd flinched horribly. Flack had withdrawn his hand and looked away, but not before Stella had seen the pain flash in his eyes.

"Call Mac," she'd ordered tersely, looking down. Flack had nodded, his eyes tight but his expression neutral, though Stella could see it took effort. He'd stood up, taking out his cell phone and calling the only person she really wanted to see.

The following hours had been a haze of paramedics, nurses, doctors, and statements. Mac had shown up almost immediately, it had seemed, after Flack made the call. He'd put an arm around her and kept it there as she was treated for minor cuts and scrapes on the scene and processed at the hospital, where she'd been treated for the larger injuries, including a broken nose, a split lip, and a cracked rib. Pictures were taken and statements given and injuries noted and processed and poked, and through it all, he was by her side.

Afterwards, when they had released her, he'd insisted on her staying at his apartment, "To make sure that bastard didn't come back." He had stayed up with her the whole night when she couldn't sleep, taking her into the bathroom sometime around dawn, when the realization that she'd nearly been raped hit her and she'd suddenly needed to vomit, holding the hair out of her face and off the back of her neck. He'd held her afterwards, when the combined horror of what had happened as well as the disgust from vomiting finally reduced her to tears. They'd sat on his bathroom floor for hours, his arms wrapped protectively around her, rocking her gently back and forth until her tears had subsided and she'd fallen into an exhausted—though thankfully dreamless—sleep. The next morning, she'd woken up in his bed. He was laying on his side next to her, fully clothed, his head propped up on his hand, watching her with a combination of worry and something close to fear in his eyes. Without saying anything, he had led the way into the kitchen, where coffee and a bagel were waiting.

She had spent the next few days at Mac's apartment, not really wanting to go back to her apartment and be alone with her thoughts, and not being able to go back to work until she had been cleared by the department psychologist. Mac had understood, and offered his home up graciously, saying she could stay as long as she needed to.

He'd understood a lot of things, actually. That was why, a few days after she'd been cleared to go back to work, she'd approached him with the proposal of him teaching her how to better defend herself. She was frustrated, more than anything else, that this guy had been able to get the jump on her. It reminded her of when Frankie had attacked her, how she'd been powerless once he'd backed her up against the wall and pulled a knife on her…

"Stella. Stella? You still with me here?" Mac was asking her, bringing her back to reality. She looked up at him again.

"What? Sorry, I… got distracted," she admitted apologetically. Mac smiled briefly.

"It's okay," he said gently. "Are you sure you want to continue this now?"

Stella forced a laugh. "Of course," she said with a smile that she knew wouldn't reach her eyes. "Let's go."

"Okay," Mac said, looking at her with only the slightest hint of worry. He gestured for her to get in position. Stella nodded obediently, bending her knees, her fists held up in front of her face in a ready position.

"Okay, just like I showed you," Mac said. "Take it in slow motion. I'm aiming a punch at your face. What do you do?" he aimed a slow-motion punch towards her.

"Move my hand between your head and your fist, and putting my hand down across your triceps," Stella said, demonstrating. She couldn't help but appreciate his well-defined arm muscles rippling underneath her fingers. If Mac noticed her subtle groping, however, he didn't show it.

"Good. What does that do?" he asked. He was testing her.

"It gives me more control over that arm, letting me isolate your hand."

"Good, Stella. Now what?"

"Do the same thing on the other side to gain control over your other hand."

"Very good. Now what?"

Stella paused, her eyes screwed slightly in concentration.

"I… I know it's something weird," she said finally, sighing in defeat. "What is it?"

"Start with your right hand…" Mac reminded her. She brightened.

"Start with my right hand and move it underneath your left arm, like I'm going to hug you," she said, snaking her hand underneath Mac's arm. She ran her fingers across Mac's back, sighing inwardly as she furtively felt his back muscles. He shivered involuntarily at her touch.

"Sorry," she muttered, not sorry at all.

"It's okay," Mac reassured her. He cleared his throat. "What do you do now?" he asked.

"I move so that my body is perpendicular to yours by taking a step to the side," Stella replied, sliding into position.

"What are you doing with your other hand?" Mac asked, testing her again.

"My other hand stays on your forearm the whole time," Stella recited.

"Why?"

"Because now, I can move your arm down across your body, so I can grab my other hand, like I'm hugging you," Stella said, her arms wrapped firmly around his torso and arm.

"What about your head? I can still hit your head and give you a concussion," Mac said, playfully tousling a few strands of her hair. She adjusted her head slightly so that it was out of his reach.

"I'm going to keep my head close against your chest," she said.

"Don't look up at me like that, Stella. I can still reach your face," Mac said patiently. Stella obediently looked down and immediately wished she hadn't.

"Oh," she said, struggling to keep her voice neutral even as her face flushed and her eyes widened

"Stella. That's—it's not what you think," Mac said, reddening slightly.

"What are you talking about? I'm not thinking anything," Stella said innocently.

Mac sighed. "It's my gun. See?" he fished his service weapon out of the waistband and Stella sighed with relief.

"Okay, I believe you," she said. She didn't look up at him for fear of him seeing her face, flushed with embarrassment at the thought of Mac's—

"Good. I'm glad. Now what?"

"I'm going to take a few steps closer to you," she said, "So our hips are touching." She inched forward, rubbing her hips against Mac's to demonstrate, and Mac gritted his teeth.

"Good," he said, panting slightly. "Next?"

"I—I'm pulling your hips closer to me, right?"

"Yes," Mac said. He paused. "Tighter."

"_What?_"

"Hold me tighter against your body. You need to significantly change the angle of my body." He stood up straighter. "See? Try to move me." Stella tried, and found it harder. "Now push with your head against my shoulder. Try to change the angle of my body." She tried, and Mac responded to the pressure. "No," he said after a moment. "You need to push harder than that." She pushed harder, and this time Mac was surprised to actually feel the force bend him with ease.

"Good," he said. "Now pull my hips towards you a little more—like that. Good. Now you've got me where you want me. My center of gravity has been pulled off to the side, and I'm fairly vulnerable to you. What do you do now?"

_Anything I want_. "Um, I kick your leg out from underneath you, right?"

"Yes. Where do you kick it?"

"Between my two legs."

"How?"

"I take my back leg and sweep your ankle out from underneath you and then step back into where my foot was before so I don't lose my balance."

"Good. Do it." Stella did, pushing with a little too much force than necessary. For one dangerous moment, she was unsure of her balance and sure that she was going to come crashing down any second, but she regained her balance at the last second and breathed again.

"Careful," Mac advised her. "I felt you almost lose your balance. In a real fight, I would have used that against you. But for now, that works. Now, where's _my_ balance?"

"Um, you don't have any. Right?"

"Yes. Now I am completely under your control." _In more ways than one_, he added silently.

"Oh, good. That's gonna come in handy later." The remark was out of her mouth before she could stop it. Mac felt his cheeks flush, but he only grinned.

"Yes," he said simply. "But you only want to do one thing. What's that?"

_Umm… _"Oh. Let go." She dropped him as if he were suddenly burning her. It caught him slightly by surprise, and he barely had time to twist his body so that he landed on his back against the mats covering the floor. He looked up at her, standing over him, a surprised look on her face, and smiled.

"Now what?" he asked. She didn't respond, only fell forward. He barely had time to throw his hands up before she stopped inches from his face, her hands having caught her fall.

"I fall," she said, a slightly seductive purr in her voice, "And I straddle you. And now, you're _completely_ under my control." She lowered herself on to him, sitting astride him. He smiled again, but this smile was different. It was uncertain, unsure of what was going to happen next. Stella smiled too.

She leaned forward, laying on top of him now. A strand of hair had worked its way free of the ponytail she had put her hair into, and it fell, barely touching Mac's cheek. He lifted a slightly trembling hand and gently tucked the strand behind her ear. He didn't withdraw his hand, and she didn't try to make him. His hand cupped her cheek, and he was suddenly aware that Stella was on top of him, nearly topless, with almost complete control over him, and that they were quite alone. He slid his hand down from her cheek, feeling her neck, so warm and lithe, and down, over her shoulders, over the back of the top she was wearing, sliding lightly down her back. Stella's breathing quickened, and she closed her eyes and sighed, lowering her mouth just slightly.

That was all the invitation Mac needed. He slid his hand back up her back and stopped on the side of her face, freeing his other hand so he could cup her face gently with both hands before lowering it the rest of the way. Their kiss was long and slow and sweet, gentle and exploring, evoking feelings in Mac that he had once thought gone forever, yet here they were—not gone after all, just lying dormant. All at once he heard laughter, startlingly similar to Claire's. Then her voice spoke to him, as plain as if she had been whispering in his ear.

_McCanna Boyd Taylor, Jr., you're in love with that girl, aren't you?_

Mac's heart sank slightly. _You know I love you more, and I loved you first_.

_Mac… Don't worry about me. I'm dead now, and anyway, you know I want you to be happy._

_But Claire,_ Mac began to protest, but Claire's voice cut him off.

_Do you love her, Mac?_

_Well—yes. I do._

_Does she make you happy?_

_Yes._

_Don't let her get away. Make me happy_.

_Yes, ma'am._

_Good. Now kiss her like she deserves to be kissed. You made her wait a damn long time._

_Yes, ma'am._


End file.
